The Sound of Madness
by LittleFlatts
Summary: Deb Martin is the only mercenary insane enough to take on missions involving kids, after what happened in '89. The CIA, in their infinite wisdom, thinks she needs help for this job. Enter the Expendables. Barney's presence will drudge up memories that should have been forgotten and Deb is going to have to learn to play nice. M for strong language.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Howdy, fellas! for those of you who have read my other story, Don't Pry, Molly Booker will make an appearance and I promise to start working on a sequel after I see the movie tomorrow (Eep!) **

**Anywho, thanks for reading!**

* * *

Barney Ross rubbed his eyes tiredly. He had been rudely awakened by his phone ringing off the hook. When he finally drug his sorry ass out of bed to answer it, he found a rather frantic Tool. Well, as frantic as the old man could get. Barney was pretty sure his friend was still riding out his weed smoking, post mercenary days.

There was no other way he could be so mellow all the time.

"Barney, brother, you need to round up the boys and get over here. Church has a job, and he's not asking."

"Shit, what is it this time?" Barney cursed as he began to pull clean fatigues and a t shirt from his dresser drawers.

"A kidnapping."

Barney closed his eyes once, fighting back the memories that threatened to surface.

"How bad?"

"He's not being very forthcoming," Tool said patiently. Barney yanked his socks on, pinning the phone between his shoulder and ear.

"You call the rest of the guys?"

"You want me to?"

"We can't waste any time on a kidnapping job," Barney said firmly, recalling what had happened during that fateful day in the Fall of 1989.

"Yeah, alright. You want me to call Molly and Billy? To let 'em know what's going on?"

Barney paused. God, Molly would handle this job so much better than he ever could. She could compartmentalize more than he would ever be able to.

But she was a mother now, and not exactly in prime condition. He would would cut his heart out if he took Billy away. There was too much risk that the young sniper wouldn't return. Barney couldn't scar a family like that.

"No. We can handle it. Let 'em have their peace."

Tool understood his meaning.

* * *

It was four o'clock in the morning when Barney stumbled into Tool's. His eyes burned with exhaustion.

Church was standing in the middle of the garage, looking as he usually did in his neatly tailored suit, but as Barney got closer, he could see the dark half moons under the CIA agent's bloodshot eyes.

The usually unflappable man had been shaken. This made Barney anxious.

"Church," he said in the way of a greeting. Blue eyes met brown.

"Barney. I'm glad you're here. The daughter of a Russian mob boss has been kidnapped," Church handed him the file.

Barney flipped it open and barely restrained a curse. He flung it back at the agent, startling his team.

"No. No fucking way!" Barney spat, closing his shaking hands into fists. It was far too late, though. The picture of the little girl was already branded into his mind. Her big brown eyes and broad smile. She looked too much like the girl from '89.

"Her name is Natalia Karov. She's seven years old-"

"I don't _do_ jobs with kids, Church!" Barney seethed. Church cocked a brow.

"You do now. What happened in 1989 was a tragedy, Barney, but-"

"You better quit while you're ahead," Tool's voice cut him off. The ex mercenary still retained his easy going posture, but his eyes were distant and cold. He remembered that mission, too.

"She needs your help. You were poorly equipped and ill prepared for that mission. This time, you're not going in blind. Pay off is three mil."

"And how am I not going in blind?" Barney sneered. Church smiled thinly.

"I'm bringing in another team."

At that moment, the door to the garage opened and hands immediately twitched to the guns at their hips.

Two people were shepherded in by a CIA man.

"You are fucking wasting my goddamned time, Max Drummer! I don't need another fucking team!" a Texan voice snarled. The owner was thrust into the circle of dim light and Barney's jaw nearly dropped.

Standing there in unlaced combat boots was a lean woman in her mid thirties, dressed in a loose tank top and basketball shorts. She had obviously just been roused from an alcohol induced slumber. He could smell the Jack on her from seven feet away.

Black hair was cropped in a careless manner and hung in her face. One side stuck up at an odd angle.

Barney glanced around at his team. They were still trying to pick their jaws up off the floor.

The woman ran an agitated hand through her hair, jerking it back from her face. She had a pair of gold- green eyes that were framed by thick lashes and deep crow's feet. If Barney were to hazard a guess, the wrinkles weren't from smiling.

"Ah, Miss Martin, nice to finally see you," Church greeted amiably. Fury ignited in her eyes and she stormed forward.

"_Fuck_ off, Church. I should'a known. This fuckin' _reeks_ of ya goddamned theatrics!" as she got angrier, her words were morphed further by her accent.

"Lord's Name, Debbie," the other man remarked in a thick Dublin brogue. She shot a glare over her shoulder at him.

Barney took that moment to give the other man a once over. The first thing he noticed was the paleness of the Irishman's eyes. The second thing was the obvious insanity that shone there.

The Irishman looked like your typical hooligan, torn fatigues, a black KISS shirt with the sleeves cut off and black hair that stuck up in every direction. Dark tattoos wound their way up and down his massive arms, curling in a script Barney didn't recognize.

The Texan shifted her eyes forward again and met Barney's gaze. Her tanned cheeks lost all of their color. The pissed off look faltered for a split second before she recovered.

"If ya _wanted_ my help, ya could have called an' I would'a been out as soon as the plane was gassed up. There was no fuckin' need to drag me outta bed by my hair," she said coldly.

"Then you wouldn't have been able to meet your new teammates," Church remarked. Her full lips twisted into a sneer.

"I don't _work_ with a team. Ya damn well know that. And ya ain't my handler. Drummer is. I don't do the mix and match shit."

"Sorry, Deb," the third man, the mystery CIA, finally spoke up. She spun and gave him a cold look. He shrugged, unfazed by her anger. "It comes from the top," he said simply.

"Every minute you waste is another minute Natalia's stuck with the Italians," Church added. Barney saw a muscle jump in her jaw.

"Get dressed, Debbie. We don't have time ta argue. The lass needs ta be rescued," the mick said calmly. Barney watched her exhale before storming out.

* * *

"If it's alright with you boys, Martin's going to take the lead on this one. She's used to these kind of jobs. She knows the mob like the back of her hand," Mr. Drummer seemed more reasonable than Church was.

But his use of the Texan's last name just confirmed Barney's suspicions. Deborah Martin was widely known throughout the industry. She had a very specific M.O. She only took jobs involving children, because every other mercenary was smart enough to stay back after the FUBAR of 1989.

Deborah Martin had spent the last few years raising hell in Arizona, fighting off the Cartel. Word had it, though, that she spent all of her off time drunk as a skunk. But Barney couldn't blame her for that.

After '89, he had spent a good six months on his ass.

There were very few female mercenaries. Barney had the good fortune to know two of the tamer ones. Yes, Reggie and Molly could be wild as hell if their feathers were ruffled, but they were _nothing_ compared to some of the others.

Female mercs were batshit crazy and damn near impossible to control on PMS. And no sane man would run with one.

He wasn't sure if Deborah would conform to this stereotype or surprise him like Molly had.

"Natalia was taken from school in Miami because her daddy, Ivan Karov, was trying to move into Cosa Nostra territory," Church said.

Barney gave him a blank look.

"Italians, lads. Archenemy of the Ruskies," The Irishman spoke lowly. He was fingering a black rosary carefully.

"Why is the CIA interested in this?" Barney asked coldly.

"Because, we get little Natalia home and Daddy Karov turns rat. Nobody does somethin' for nothin'," Deborah appeared. She wore a gray t shirt and her woodland camo fatigues were bloused expertly into her now laced up boots. A black bandana kept her hair back out of her face.

Church smiled condescendingly at her.

"Not all of us can be saints like you, Miss Martin."

She sneered at him again.

"I'll work with your team, Church, but only if we leave in the next five minutes. Have the files and briefs sent to the plane. We'll go over them on the way to London," she said briskly, reaching for the manila folder he'd discarded onto a table.

Church caught her wrist in a vise like hold. Barney saw her twitch and knew she was fighting the urge to floor him.

"You should thank your lucky stars, Miss Martin, that I'm not your handler. You should treat the CIA with a little more respect."

Her eyes narrowed as if she were contemplating every possible way to kill him.

"When the CIA _earns_ my respect, Mister Church, I'll give it," her voice was deadly calm, but her accent had twisted her words again. Deborah yanked her wrist away and strode past Barney.

She still smelled like stale whiskey.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Soooo, I saw the third movie this afternoon! I absolutely loved Smilie, but this sequel is going to be harder to write than I thought. I have a rough draft in mind, and I'll probably go see it again, but it may be a while longer before I have anything ready to publish. **

**What did you guys think of the movie? I didn't care too much for Luna. It seemed like she was just eye candy. **

**Thank y'all so much for reading and reviewing this story!**

* * *

The plane that they boarded was CIA owned and operated and looked like something from a Bond movie.

Deborah moved about it, totally at ease. She dumped her duffel bag in of of the plush chairs before going to a large screen. Long fingers danced across a keyboard and Natalia Karov's face appeared on the screen. Deborah glanced back at them and saw they were still standing around.

"Ya gonna siddown or not?" she asked impatiently. Her partner had taken the seat closest to her. He grinned widely. Barney shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.

Barney could smell the alcohol on Deborah and he could smell the crazy on Mickey O'Shea. That taunting curl of his lips and those manic blue eyes didn't help much, either.

Barney nodded to his team and they all found seats.

"Natalia Karov, age 7, taken from her school by the Italians. They're flying to London, and that's where we'll be headed. I've got contacts in the area, they'll keep an eye out. Once they get to London, they'll find a vehicle and head to the country. They'll have a small charter plane take them to Italy. Our best bet is going to be getting them before they get on that charter plane. They won't have any support in the English countryside."

"How bad is this going to get?" Christmas asked. Mickey's blue eyes flashed over him. Deborah shifted her stance, folding her arms over her chest. She glanced at her teammate before answering.

"How well trained are they, you mean? Italians ain't nothin' to sneeze at. They're a higher class than the Colombians and Mexicans, they do back room dealin's. But they're not people ya wanna piss off."

"Have you had any experience with the mobs?" Christmas pressed. She pursed her lips firmly and turned off the screen.

"Not with the Italians."

Mickey glanced up at the ceiling, fingering his rosary. He grinned.

"Father wants ta know if ye've got faith, Debbie," he announced. A dry smile twisted her lips as she looked down at him.

"Not in Him, Mickey," she said bluntly.

"Sorry, is he a ghost, then? Dear old Dad?" Christmas sneered at the pair. Michael's eyes snapped over to him.

"In order ta find his equal, an Irishman is _forced_ ta talk to God!" he stated boldly, "But I wouldn't expect ye to know anythin' 'bout that now, Englishman."

Deborah barely repressed her snort.

"Quit tryin' to rile 'em up, Mickey. We should all get some rest. There won't be many opportunities in the next few days," she cut off her comrade.

* * *

Ten minutes later, the lights of the plane had been dimmed. All Barney could hear was the rumbling of the engine beneath him as he stretched out on one of the chairs. There was no doubt that the plane was made for comfort, but he did miss Santa.

He attention was drawn to the seats across the plane. Mickey and Deborah were having a hushed conversation in what he could only assume was Gaelic.

Her gold green eyes glanced over at him and he quickly pretended to be asleep.

"Ye finally sobered up, Debbie?" Mickey switched to English.

"Hung over," she groused, "They oughta know better than to come find me after a mission We've only been through this twenty times."

"Aye, 'twas very inconvenient, that little Natalia was kidnapped at such an inopportune moment," Mickey remarked coolly. Deborah ducked her head, thoroughly chastised.

"That's not what I meant, Mickey, and ya damn well know it. I've lost too many kids because I was too damn drunk to even see straight."

"Maybe that's His way of telling ye to sober up," Mickey suggested in a voice that was too light. Barney strained his ears to hear Deborah's response.

"Maybe He shouldn't fuck up the lives of kids to send me a message," Deborah said venomously.

"Ye really gonna blame the work of evil men on God, lass?" Mickey asked gently. Deborah exhaled firmly.

"If your God is all powerful, Mick, then he should be able to protect the innocents," she said.

"He does, Deb. He sends you."

Deborah left out a mirthless laugh and shook her head.

"I'm not God's warrior, Mick. If I was, I'd be able to save them all."

* * *

**A/N: Virtual cookies to anybody who can pick out all the references I make in this story ;) Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

It was nine PM, London time, when they landed at a private airport just outside the city. It had been a twelve hour flight.

As the men unloaded their bags and stretched their legs, Deborah walked a ways away and pulled out a cell phone.

"Who's she callin', then?" Christmas asked Mickey. The Irishman scoffed derisively.

"No clue. Debbie's 'er own woman," the Irishman pulled a cigarette pack from his pocket and stuck one between his lips.

"Why don't you ask Dad, then?" Christmas suggested sarcastically. Lazily, Mickey shifted blue eyes to him as he flicked a lighter to lit his cigarette. His eyes lifted to the ceiling and his lips curled up a bit in amusement.

"Why don't ye jus' ask 'er?" he retorted. Christmas opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off when Deborah strode back to them.

"Italians are on their way to the hangar. They've got about an hour on us. Which one of you knows how to pilot a helicopter?" Deborah asked.

"They left a us a helicopter without a pilot?" Gunnar rumbled. Her eyes rested on him for a moment, making him shift uneasily.

"You trust the CIA to get us there in time?" she raised a dark brow.

* * *

"Jesus Christ in Heaven!" Deborah slammed into Caesar as Mickey made a hard right with the helicopter.

"Lord's Name, Debbie-girl!" the Irishman crowed from the cockpit. Caesar helped Deborah right herself and she shot him a grateful grimace.

"He's insane," Toll Road remarked. Deborah's lips quirked up and she shook her head.

"I keep trying to get him tested," she admitted.

"Father says _I'm _the sane one on this helicopter!" Mickey defended himself.

"Would you just keep your eyes on the-" Barney started from the co-pilot's seat.

"On the clouds? You want me to keep my eyes on the clouds?" Mickey wondered sarcastically. Deborah snorted.

"Give up while you're ahead, Ross," She advised. The helicopter jolted again and this time, Caesar fell into her and she fell into Gunnar.

"Fucking hell, Mickey! Where the _hell_ did you learn to fly!?" Deborah snarled, not daring to get up and try to poke her head into the cockpit

"Uh, the Father gave me a quick tutorial while you lot were loadin' up!" he said.

"Jesus," Christmas gripped the edge of his seat as the helicopter gave another sickening lurch.

"Father says you oughtn't take His Name in vain, Englishman!" Mickey called.

"Switch to co-pilot, Mickey. Let Barney fly until I can get up there," Deborah ordered, looking ill.

"Can you even fly this thing?" Christmas asked as she unbuckled.

"Let me put it this way, Christmas: Mickey can fly and we can all be too busy throwing up to save Natalia, or I can fly, and we'll actually be able to stand when we land the damn thing," she said impatiently as Mickey climbed back. They brushed past each other.

"Someday, Debbie, I'm gonna develop self esteem issues from all yer abuse." Mickey pouted. Deborah snorted as she buckled herself into the pilot seat.

Barney watched as she easily flipped the switches, changing it back to her joystick.

"I thought you couldn't fly?" he questioned. She smiled wryly, her face illuminated by the dash controls.

"Now where would you go and get an idea like that, Mister Ross?" she drawled, urging the helicopter forward.

* * *

The ride was smoother with Deborah than it was with Mickey. She knew what she was doing. Barney just watched her. There was a quiet determination on her face. He glanced back. Most of the guys were sleeping. Mickey was holding his rosary, though, lips moving in a silent prayer. Christmas was watching with a look of disdain.

"Where the hell did you pick that guy up, anyways?" Barney asked, keeping his voice low. Deborah glanced at him with her harsh gold- green eyes.

"Belfast. I was drunk as hell after a mission. Mouthed off in a bar full of ex IRA. Lucky for me, though, Mickey was listening to his God, and God told him to save my ass. He pulled me out of the middle of a brawl and out of the bar. I was fighting mad. He took me back to his apartment so I could cool my heels and sober up. We've been working together ever since," Deborah said simply.

"And how long ago was that?" Barney wondered.

"Four years in October. How long you been with your boys?" Deborah looked at him again before looking back out at the sky. Barney exhaled and ran a hand through his black hair.

"Christmas has been with me for about eight years." He shrugged. Deborah made an impressed noise in the back of her throat.

"Long time. You been in the business longer than that, though, haven't you?"

Barney glanced at her, wondering where she got her knowledge. She smiled mirthlessly at him.

"Mercenaries gossip like old women, Mister Ross, when you get 'em drunk enough," she stated seriously.

"Been at it since '82," he said. Deborah shook her head.

"You were in on the '89 job, weren't you? Rescuing that Senator's kids?" she asked carefully. Barney gritted his teeth.

"Bit before your time, isn't it?" Barney asked.

"Yeah... But I've heard the story too many times to count. Everybody's always telling me to try and get me to leave those jobs alone."

Barney didn't know how to respond, so he didn't.

"It was a shit situation, Mister Ross, but you did what you could," she stated. Barney's temper flickered.

"How the hell do you know?"

Deborah focused her attention out the windshield, pursing her lips.

Barney clenched his fist. But Deborah wasn't wrong. It _had_ been a shit situation.

* * *

The up and coming Senator Lucas Hallard had knocked up his hired help, Frannie Prcic, the daughter of Croatian immigrants. In 1980, she gave birth to twins, Alex and Ruth. Hallard let the twins live with his one year old son, Tom.

in 1989, in hopes to gain leverage over the senator, some Russian nationalists kidnapped the children and fled the States to some Soviet block country.

Flocks of law enforcement had flooded the place, intent on aiding in the search for the children. But it was a group of young mercenaries, led by Barney Ross, that had found the children.

Ruth was the only one still alive.

Barney had never felt so hopeless when Trench lifted the nine year old girl easily in his arms. She had been silent throughout the whole ordeal, as she watched them killing the guards. Her brothers' dead bodies were frozen around her.

Barney would never forget that empty look on her face. The little girl was broken, beyond all repair, it seemed. There would be no bouncing back for her.

It would haunt her for the rest of her life, just like it did Barney.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you guys for reading/reviewing/following/favoriting, etc. Seriously, it makes me really happy. **

**I have two shout outs to give. One is for Mopargirl1 because she's helped me get through not only this story, but my other one as well ;) You're amazing, darlin'**

**And the second one is to Adain Bryce who has been a faithful reader/reviewer to both of my Expendables stories. You're pretty swell, dear!**

**Thank y'all for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

It was midnight when they landed the helicopter two miles from the hangar.

"Can't go any closer without destroying the element of surprise. Hope you boys ate your wheaties," Deborah slung her fal over her shoulder.

Mickey led the group, with Deborah just behind him.

There was a full moon and that illuminated their path through the English fields when the clouds parted. They ran quickly, reaching the hangar in fifteen minutes.

The plane was being fueled and a little girl was being drug across the tarmac. Deborah did a funny little jerk and Mickey grabbed her arm tightly to restrain her.

"Take a breath, Deb. Ye can't go in there half cocked."

She glared at her comrade.

"She's _right there_, Mickey," Deborah hissed.

"And how many Italians are there, huh? Keep yourself together," Mickey ordered brusquely, giving her arm a jerk.

Deborah pulled her arm from his grasp, giving him a death glare.

"Circle around in a semi circle formation. Caesar, you got anything big enough to hit their control tower?" Deborah asked, shifting her stance. He grinned widely.

"I got your back, girl."

* * *

Natalia screamed when the tower exploded and it chilled Barney's veins. Deborah was off like a bolt of lightning.

"Shit! Deb!" Mickey cursed, giving her covering fire as the Italians tried to find their bearings.

The man in a suit scooped Natalia up and began to run to the plane. Deborah refused to shoot for fear of hitting Natalia.

She was halfway there when he started up the steps. Bullets were ricocheting off the cement around her. Rain started to sprinkle down on her as she reached the bottom of the steps. A hard mass knocked into her from behind, pinning her to the ground. The plane began to roll away.

Deborah elbowed Mickey to get him off of her.

"There's a sniper ye fucking banshee!" Mickey snarled, dragging her behind the steps. Deborah wriggled free from his grasp and started sprinting after the plane that had yet to ascend.

"Deborah!"

She kept running until she reached the end of the runway, but by then, she could see the plane's back lights rising through the dark night.

Mickey grabbed her shoulder roughly.

"I fucking _had_ her, Michael O'Shea!" she screamed at him.

"Ye were goin' ta get yerself _killed_!" Mickey snarled back at her as the rest of their group jogged up, their age showing.

"What the hell was that cowboy shit, Martin?" Barney demanded angrily, "You should know better than that! You almost got Christmas killed!"

The English man was clutching gauze to his shoulder. She strode forward and ripped his hand away. Deborah prodded the wound roughly, making him curse.

"You'll live, ya damn pansy," she seethed, spinning on her heel. The rain started to come down harder.

"Hey! Watch it, kid!" Barney warned. Deborah turned furious eyes onto him.

"Don't fucking order me around, Barney Ross. Ya couldn't save those kids in '89-"

"And what the hell would you know about that?" Barney's strenuous hold on his temper loosened a little more. The adrenaline through his veins made his self control die a little. He wanted to hit her. She had no goddamn right to talk about those kids.

Deborah's cold eyes flashed at him.

"I know a _hell_ of a lot more than you think," she hissed. Barney had never seen such hate filled eyes. It made him pause for a moment.

When you were broken, you stayed that way, or you just burned with rage, you let it fill you up, let it fuel your every move.

"Jesus Christ," Barney exhaled. Mickey's face had gone pale and he glanced back and forth between them. Deborah sunk back on her heels, her mouth pressed in a tight line. She glared at Christmas.

"Get him patched up. We leave in five," and then she strode off. Barney lowered his eyes. Mickey took off after Deborah.

* * *

"Deb- Deborah!" Mickey grabbed her arm. Deborah's eyes were empty as she looked up at him. Mickey dropped his arm. "Lass, what _happened_ out there? Ye've been on hundreds of missions. Ye've never lost control on one-"

"This is different, Mickey," she said sharply, running a hand through her wet hair as she blinked rain out of her face. The shoulders of her olive green jacket were dark with rain.

Now, Michael O'Shea knew something of patience. He had spent many years in the Catholic Church, trying to heal the souls of the broken, the ones who tried to fill that void within them.

But Deborah was on the edge of a precipice, though, and this mission and little Natalia's life hung in the balance. Mickey couldn't coax it out of her like he had done so many years ago. There was no time for that now.

"Debbie?" he pressed. Her eyes met his for a brief moment before glancing away. Her hands were clenched so tightly that her knuckles were white.

"It's nothing. I just can't stand these goddamn bastards. Who the fuck uses a _child_ for leverage?" her voice trembled with rage.

"I know, Debbie. I know," Mickey knew it was more than that, though. But he wouldn't press her. She was calming down. "It ain't just us on this mission, though, Deb. We've got five other men ta worry about. Ye can't run off like that."

"I _know_, Mickey," she sounded exhausted, "Jesus, I need a drink."

Mickey's pale eyes went steely.

"Lord's Name, Debbie lass," there was no teasing in his voice, though. Her mouth contorted in a sort of grimace.

"We need to go. Find out if one of these planes has enough gas to get us to Rome," she said, pulling out her phone, "I need to call Drummer."

* * *

"What's up, brother?" Tool answered the phone.

"What happened to Ruth Prcic?" Barney asked. There was a static filled pause. Tool had been on that mission, too. He remembered.

"What brings this on?" Tool asked in a guarded tone. Barney sighed. The floodlights that shone down on the runway kept the pitch black of the night sky at bay, but they also reflected the light of the falling rain.

Through the haze, Barney could see Deborah pacing as she spoke into a cell phone. The Irishman was walking through the lines of planes.

"Don't ask questions on this one, brother. I just...I need to know she moved on with her life," Barney pinched the bridge of his nose.

Tool was quiet for a long minute before he spoke again, "Alright, Barney. I'll do some digging. You may not like what I find, though." Then the call disconnected.

Christmas approached when Barney tucked his phone away.

"Barney, I know this is the last thing you want to talk about now, but I need to know. What happened in '89?"

Barney frowned deeply when Mickey called to Deborah.

"I'll tell ya when we get in the air."

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading and reviewing, fellas! **


	5. Chapter 5

Christmas watched as the team settled into the seats. Deborah was in the far back, wringing water from her jacket before hanging it up to dry.

Mickey was sitting close to the front, his rosary wrapped around one hand. His pale eyes stared unblinkingly at Christmas.

Christmas gave him a sneer and the Irishman just grinned carelessly. Gunnar was already snoring with his seat reclined. Toll and Hale were watching Deborah warily. Christmas met their gazes and shook his head slightly. His message was clear. _Leave it alone._

Toll nodded curtly, but Hale gave the woman one last, lingering look. Christmas turned and headed into the cock pit, making sure to close the door.

Barney was sitting rigidly as he began the ascent. Christmas dropped into the copilot seat and folded his arms, waiting.

Barney got to a safe altitude before he began speaking.

"There was a senator in Arizona in 1980. He had a son with his wife, and then he had twins with the hired help, a Croatian woman named Frannie. Well, nine years later, some Russians needed some leverage over him. They went to the house and it was empty except for Frannie and the three kids. They shot her. It was a gut shot, so she was still alive to watch them take her kids. It was five days before the Senator called us in.

It took us over a week to track 'em down. They were in the ass end of Russia. They had the kids tied up in the middle of this warehouse, but the two boys had frozen to death. The bastards had barely fed them and only given them a blanket," Barney's voice got harsh as he felt the anger that had lain dormant for so long rise up again. "It was ten degrees out, and all they gave those kids was a blanket."

Christmas said nothing and he kept his face blank, but if you looked carefully, you could see the slight tightening of his mouth.

"That little girl watched us kill every man in that room. She wasn't even crying. What kind of nine year old doesn't cry when blood sprays on her from the dead man in front of her?" Barney asked rhetorically.

"The kind that wants the bastards to pay," Christmas said quietly. Barney flexed his hands on the controls.

"Trench picked her up and wrapped her in a blanket Reggie had in her backpack. That kid didn't say a word the entire flight back. She didn't eat anything Tool and Doc tried to give her. And when we got back, we passed her off to the senator. You know what he asked?" Barney glanced over at Christmas. The Brit said nothing.

"'Where's my son?'" Barney sneered. "All he cared about was his first kid. Nothin' about Ruth or her brother. Reggie about shot him."

"And you just left her there?" Christmas pressed. Barney shrugged, his eyes on the dark sky.

"Nothing else we could do. It was a job. He paid us a few days later... That's why nobody takes jobs with kids, Lee."

"Except Martin and her batshit crazy Irishman," Christmas corrected. Barney nodded once.

"Except them," he agreed.

* * *

Toll walked to the back of the plane, keenly aware of the Irishman's eyes on the back of his neck. He offered Deborah the extra black jacket he always took with him on missions. She glanced up a him through her shaggy black hair. She held his gaze as she took the jacket from him.

"Thanks," she said simply. Toll wasn't sure what possessed him, but he sat down next to the younger woman.

"That was a pretty stupid thing you did...But I've never seen anybody fight harder to rescue somebody," Toll remarked. Deborah's eyes were illuminated by the dim lights of the plane, giving her a slight feline look. "People say a lot of shitty things about you, because you do what you do...But you're one of the good ones."

A small smile curved her lips.

"I appreciate that," she stated, running a hand through her damp hair. She leaned back in her seat and sighed heavily, closing her eyes. "Ya want a word of advice, though?"

Toll shrugged, leaning back in his own seat.

"Don't ever take another job involving a child."

He frowned deeply at her.

"Why-"

"Because when you see children killed in front of you, _children_ barely able to walk, you have to find ways to cope in the real world. And if you can't, well, that will kill you before the Life ever does," she said.

"And how do you cope?" Toll asked warily, thinking back on how he had nearly drunk himself into oblivion a few times and how Gunnar had fallen into drugs.

"I don't. I drink. I drink until I can't see straight and starting a fight in a pub full of IRA members seems like a good idea."

"That where you picked up Mickey?" Toll jerked his chin to the front of the plane. Deborah smiled wryly.

"More like he picked up me. He kept me from getting myself killed. He still does."

* * *

Barney pressed his phone to his ear, hoping it was Tool.

"Yeah?" he answered.

"Barney, _please_ tell me you're not on a job trying to save the daughter of a mob boss," Molly spoke. He almost rolled his eyes.

"Tool called you," he guessed mirthlessly.

"Barney, this is _not_ a good idea. With the Russians and the Italians, it could end up being worse than that shit storm in '89," Molly said seriously. The sad part was that she was right. God, Barney missed having her as his medic. She saw things so much clearer than he ever seemed to.

"What did you want me to do, Booker? I had two CIA agents and a whole 'nother team depending on me!" Barney protested.

"Another team? Who?" Molly asked.

"Deborah Martin and Mickey O'Shea, you know 'em?" he asked when she scoffed lightly.

"I know _of_ them. She's pretty notorious...She gets the job done, though," Molly said dryly. Barney smiled wryly. She was sounding more and more like Tool everyday. She would be a fine go between when Tool finally quit.

"You know if Tool's dug anything up?" Barney asked.

"I don't know. I haven't heard from him since before supper time," Molly admitted.

"What time _is_ it there?" Barney asked. Molly paused for a minute before answering him.

"About midnight. I was up with Gabriel," she said evasively. Barney sighed.

"Alright. I'll call when we get back stateside. Take care, Molly," he said.

"Yeah. Be careful, Barney." Then she ended the call.

Christmas, who had been half dozing in his seat, sent Barney a sleepy look.

"And what did our ex medic and resident mother hen want?" The Brit mumbled tiredly.

"Just checking in. You know she hates not being able to come with us...We could have used her on this job," Barney lamented. Christmas smirked and rubbed his shoulder.

"Yeah. I prefer getting sutures from her rather than Gunnar," he stated bluntly. Barney grinned.

There was a knock on the cockpit door and Deborah stuck her head in. Barney immediately recognized Toll's overlarge jacket on her. She had rolled the sleeves up several times.

"I can take over if you need to get some sleep, Ross," she offered. Barney looked at her for a long minute. Her eyes were clear and the alcohol smell had faded. She didn't look mad as hell anymore.

"Naw, I'm alright, thanks, Martin," he finally said.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading, dears!**


	6. Chapter 6

Deborah woke with a jerk when the plane touched down in some CIA secured landing strip. Her eyes felt gritty and burned with exhaustion. God, she needed more sleep.

"Martin, you got any new intel from Drummer?" Barney asked from the door of the cockpit. Deborah rubbed her eyes as she stood. Her back cracked in protest.

"We're on our own until we get the girl. The mafia runs this area. We've got no support if we're captured," she said grimly.

"Let's try not ta get caught then, yeah?" Mickey suggested as he tucked his rosary under his shirt.

"Brilliant plan," Deborah said sarcastically as she shouldered her rifle and tucked extra magazines into the pockets of her fatigues.

* * *

It went to hell about five minutes after they got out of the jeep. Gun fire erupted down the little street and civilians fled.

Deborah sprayed a burst up at a sniper on the roof of a store before she ducked into a little cafe. The clicking of a hammer being drawn back made her look up. The tables were filled with your typical mafia bosses.

"_Buon giorno, signorina Martin_," one man leered, leveling his six shooter at her forehead. Deborah exhaled forcefully and took her finger from the trigger of her gun.

"Well, it's nice to know that I was expected," she said sarcastically. The man, he had to be in his mid forties, smiled pleasantly.

"Oh, yes. Not a child in the world goes missing without somebody wondering when you'll darken the doorstep. But, the game is up, Signorina. Lay down your gun."

Disgustedly, Deborah pulled the magazine out and slid the bolt back, making the round pop from the chamber. She flipped the safety on and tossed it to one of the goons.

Deborah's wrists were zip tied before she was led out a back door, away from the gun fight that still raged on the next street.

She was roughly patted down before being shoved into a slate gray SUV. Deborah said nothing during the drive.

* * *

They didn't bother to blindfold her, so she knew it was supposed to be a one way trip. It didn't bother her too much.

Overconfident people rarely met a fair end.

They took her out of the city and deep into the country. Vineyards surrounded the road. Deborah cataloged every turn and twist in the road. If she was going to escape, she would have to know this.

After about forty five minutes, a large mansion came into view. Deborah sighed inaudibly. It was so predictable.

She was herded out of the car and into the mansion. From there, it was down into a brightly lit, empty basement. She was tossed down the last few steps and the door slammed. She heard the deadbolt slide into place.

She heaved an exasperated sigh and laid down, bringing her knees up to her chest. With a bit of contortion, she brought her bound hands from behind her, over her legs, to her front.

Deborah stood and slammed her wrists down on either side of her raised knees. The two zip ties flew apart and she was free.

She hadn't been casing the place for long when the door was flung open again and Barney and Christmas were tossed in, shouting expletives and fighting like hell.

"Save your energy," she said bluntly, not moving towards them. Their gazes snapped to her.

"Where the hell were you?" Christmas seethed. Deborah cocked a brow, unimpressed with the fury in his voice.

"Made the mistake of taking cover in a cafe filled with mafia dons. You?" she sneered. Briefly, she felt a flash of worry for her Irishman, but she quickly staunched it. It was a mission, and she couldn't let herself dissolve into panic.

"They got us pinned. Everybody else got away," Barney cut across before Christmas could snarl something back.

Deborah gnawed her bottom lip, obviously deep in contemplation.

* * *

"We have to go back!" Toll snarled at Mickey as the Irishman jumped from the jeep at the landing strip. Mickey sent a harsh glare over his shoulder as he stormed towards the plane. Angrily, he ran a hand through his hair.

"What the hell am I supposed ta do?" he shouted at the sky. Gunnar and Hale shared an anxious look. Mickey fumed in silence for a moment. "We can't fuckin' go back there wit' four men. And the CIA," Mickey sneered the name, "Won't lift a finger ta help."

Gunnar rubbed his jaw thoughtfully.

"Anybody got a cell phone?" he wondered idly.

* * *

Molly stared listlessly out the window, arms folded around herself. Billy immediately jumped up when Gabriel started crying in the other room.

"I'll take care of it, Moll," he promised. She smiled sadly. Her husband had no idea what to do. She didn't either.

Eight weeks. She had been eight weeks along. Not too lengthy, in the grand scheme of things, but God, it felt like there was a brand pressing into her chest. She would never know that child that had lived for only eight weeks inside of her.

God, she wished Reggie or Lottie were there. But they had hit the road. They couldn't stay any more. The men they loved would take them into the ground. Molly couldn't blame them. Not really.

Her phone started ringing. Toll's name flashed across the caller I.D. Unease flickered in the back of her mind.

"Yeah?" she answered.

"Molly, it's Gunnar," the Swedish giant rumbled. Molly exhaled, getting a grip on herself. The way she slipped back into her old state of mind was almost eerie.

"What's happened?" She asked, gripping the window ledge tightly.

"Barney, Christmas, and Deb Martin have been kidnapped. We don't have enough men to take on the strong hold. You think you can call in some favors and maybe send Billy out to help us?" Gunnar asked swiftly. Molly shifted onto her left leg, absentmindedly testing how much pain remained from the old wound. It throbbed dully.

"Was it the Italians?" Molly asked anxiously.

"Yeah."

"Alright. Sit tight. I'll see what I can do," she said briskly before hanging up. Billy appeared in the doorway.

"Everything ok?" he asked tensely, noting the change in her posture. She sent him a grim smile, tucking her phone into her pocket.

"You gonna be ok to watch Gabriel for a few days? Barney's gotten himself into some trouble and our team is floundering."

Billy paused, looking conflicted.

"Are you sure you're up for that, Molls, I mean-"

"Billy, the best thing for me is to get out of here. My knee is fine. I need something to distract me from-" Molly broke off, shifting her eyes away from her husband.

"You know, you really need to find a hobby, babe," Billy pressed a kiss to her brow. Molly leaned into his arms, praising God that she had found somebody who understood her need to stay on the move. "Come back to me, Molls. I don't want our son to grow up without a mother."

* * *

"Molly, what are you-" Tool looked up as she entered his shop dressed in her fatigues. He hadn't seen her don that garb for over a year. He was too used to seeing her in baggy t shirts and sweat pants, balancing her son on her hip.

What the old man hadn't realized, though, was that she had lost all the weight she gained when she'd carried Gabriel. She was back in the shape she needed to be in to go tromping across third world countries.

"Barney, Christmas, and Martin have been taken by the Italians. The team needs back up. You in, old man?" Molly asked coolly. Tool's jaw tightened.

"Yeah. You got anybody else?"

"Danny is going to meet us in Rome. Church is giving us a CIA pilot. We'll be there quickly."

"Alright. Give me half an hour. I'll meet you at the field," Tool said firmly. _I've got to stop coming out of retirement,_ he though gravely to himself.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Thank you guys so much for the favorites and follows! Fair warning, though, this chapter is going to get dark and live up to the M rating. There's only one more chapter after this! I've started working on the Sequel to Don't Pry, for those of you who are anxiously awaiting that. Thanks for reading!**

* * *

Deborah paced the basement like a restless panther. Barney's eyes followed her from his seat in the corner. Christmas was pale. He had torn the stitches in

his shoulder.

They had been there for several hours before the door opened and a troop of men came down. The leader was the same one who had held her at gunpoint

earlier.

"I'm flattered, Miss Martin that the CIA deigns us important enough to send a legend such as yourself," he said pleasantly. Deborah cocked a brow and

folded her arms across her chest. The man seemed annoyed that the zip ties no longer bound her.

"You can't really be surprised that zip ties don't hold a 'legend' like me," Deborah sneered. The man bristled.

"I had heard of your big mouth, Signorina, but perhaps you should learn to keep it closed. It may cost a life."

At that moment, a bound and gagged little girl appeared at the top of the steps. She was being frog marched by another goon.

Barney watched as Deborah's nonchalant mask slipped off. Worry flashed across her face and she shifted forward.

Deborah didn't take her eyes off of Natalia Karov.

"You're a sick bastard, using a child like this," Deborah seethed venomously. The mafia boss shrugged and smiled.

"What I want to know, Deborah, is why an upstanding mercenary such as yourself is so very concerned over the daughter of a Russian murderer. Truly,

Signorina, you treat me with so much scorn, is Ivan Karov not deserving of the same?"

Deborah said nothing. She kept her eyes on the scared little girl.

"So, I have to wonder, now, why you would bother saving his daughter."

She finally tore her eyes away and glared hard at the Italian.

"The child will not share the guilt of the parent. It says so in Ezekiel. You're a Catholic, aren't you?" Deborah asked coldly.

"Yes. But you are not. Which leads me to believe that you are being paid to do this job. Which means Ivan Karov has made some sort of deal. Every criminal

worth his salt knows that the CIA has you on retainer. So, that damn Ruskie is going to turn rat once you return his daughter to him. He has enough

knowledge to bring down the Chinese, the Irish, not to mention his own mob..And he could even bring us down."

Deborah had gotten pale.

"So, you see, while I hold you in the highest regard for your unbending loyalty to all the forgotten children in the world, I cannot have you succeed in this

mission."

Barney rose, worry on his face. Deborah was as white as a sheet as she stared down the Italian.

"Don't. Don't do this," she implored through tight lips, "You can kill me and send them back home. They don't give a shit about this job. They won't come

sniffing around."

Barney flinched. So that's what Deborah thought of his dedication? That this job was just another paycheck? Did she really think he did not care about what

would happen to the young girl?

The Italian shook his head and gestured for the young girl to be brought forward. Deborah lunged, but two goons caught her around the waist, pinning her

arms behind her.

"Tell her to be brave, Signorina," the Italian leered. Deborah locked eyes with Natalia.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered.

The crack of the gunshot made Barney close his eyes.

* * *

"It's nice ta finally meet the Lone Wolf's lass," Mickey shook Molly's hand firmly. She smirked.

"Word has it, Mr. O'Shea, that you're a batshit crazy Irishman who has God's ear," she replied. Mickey grinned widely.

"Oh, aye?"

Molly offered him a smirk as she laid the satellite images out.

"I got these from Church," she informed the group. "There's about fifty men there, but they could call in reinforcements. Which is why we need to drop this

as soon as we get in there. It's a signal jammer. Their phones won't work within a thousand yards," Molly gestured vaguely to the metal instrument.

"So, we get in there, kill the bastards, which shouldn't be too hard, find them, and get out," Molly said firmly.

"And what about Natalia Karov?" Mickey question, hand hand latched around his rosary. Molly's eyes lingered on him for a moment too long.

"We'll search the house, and if she's not there, we'll come back to the plane and figure it out. I'm sorry, Mickey, but my priority is Barney, Christmas, and

Deborah. They're the girl's best hope."

The Irishman nodded once.

* * *

Barney felt like throwing up. Deborah was absolutely coated with the blood spatter. Natalia's blood.

The woman had screamed and cursed and kicked like a banshee as the little girl had fallen, bullet in the back of her head.

And Barney and Christmas had been helpless to do anything as the Italian pistol whipped Deborah into some semblance of submission. They had left her in a

bloody heap on the floor.

It hadn't taken long for her to regain her senses, though. She had simply knelt by the girl's body, staring unblinking at the vacant brown eyes.

Christmas had said nothing. Barney glanced at the Brit. His eyes were over bright and his jaw was set.

Barney was about to say something when gunfire came from upstairs. Deborah glanced up at the ceiling, her expression empty.

"Looks like the cavalry's come," Barney rose to his feet.

* * *

Gunnar, Mickey, and Toll flooded downstairs, their guns lifted. Mickey dropped his gun, letting his sling catch it, when he saw his Texan on the floor.

He made the sign of the cross over himself before dropping a hand onto her shoulder. Her green eyes stared up at him. Deborah swallowed hard.

"Easy, lass," he said gently, "We've got ta get out of here, yeah?" Deborah shook her head.

"I'm not leaving her, Mick," she said, her voice hoarse. The Irishman nodded, not skipping a beat.

"I didn't think ye would. Gunnar, ye want ta give me a hand?" Mickey knelt and pulled a rough woolen blanket from his pack. He didn't miss the way Deborah

flinched.

After Mickey wrapped up Natalia's body in the makeshift shroud, the blond giant, with surprising gentleness, picked her up.

"Let's go, fellas!"

Barney cursed at that voice.

"You called Molly?!" 


	8. Chapter 8

An hour and a half later, they were all in the CIA piloted troop plane, on the way back to the States.

Natalia's body lay at the far end. Mickey was kneeling over her, his rosary wrapped around one hand, his other on Natalia's brow. Nobody said anything as he prayed over her.

Deborah was sitting at the end of one of the benches, her hands fisted between her knees. Her eyes were firmly trained on the ground. Mickey pulled the blanket back over Natalia's face and sat next to Deborah. Close enough to offer some comfort, but far enough away that she could have her space.

Barney watched her closely. He was almost sure of it now, but he needed Tool's confirmation.

"You ever find out about what happened to Ruth Prcic?" he didn't bother lowering his voice. Deborah's head snapped up, her eyes were wide. Mickey had stiffened, too, his pale eyes locking on Barney.

Tool rubbed his face, obviously exhausted.

"Yeah, brother, I did." Tool was obviously unconcerned that he held the attention of the entire plane. "She stayed with Senator Fuckhead for about a year before he dumped her into the system. Couldn't handle the trauma that came with her," Tool sneered disgustedly, "She went through about a dozen foster families. They couldn't handle her either. She turned eighteen and all record of her stops because she changed her name."

"That's the girl from '89, right?" Hale asked curiously.

"What'd she change it to?" Toll wondered. Tool's eyes slid over Deborah and she bit out a harsh oath as she tore to her feet, running a furious hand through her hair.

"I can hazard a guess," Molly murmured, her eyes never leaving the older woman, "Deborah Martin."

Deborah turned livid eyes onto the red head.

"Don't fucking pretend to know me, Little Wolf. You have no fucking idea-"

"No, I'm pretty sure I do," Molly said calmly, unfazed by the livid Texan, "You never wanted the pain you felt to be inflicted on any other child. And everybody knew your name, so you created a new identity and tried to save the world on your own. And now you're broken because the world breaks everybody. And nobody else is strong enough to stand with you," Molly said simply. Deborah's eyes were over bright with tears. "And I'm so sorry for that, Deborah."

Deborah didn't say another word the entire flight home, but she felt everybody's eyes on her. They were pitying.

* * *

Drummer and Church met them at the landing field.

"Jesus Christ, Martin," Drummer shook his head when he saw the small, wrapped body in Gunnar's arms. "What the hell-"

"It's not a good time to test me now, Max Drummer. If anything else comes up, your fucking lackeys can handle it. Don't call me," Deborah warned in an empty voice.

That made the old man shut his mouth. He didn't object when Deborah and Mickey grabbed their duffels and left the landing strip.

"Barney, maybe you can shed some light on why I've got a dead mafia princess and a broken mercenary?"

"She's broken because she's carried the guilt of all the unsaved children for too damn long, Agent Drummer. You need to find some other people to go after kids, because she isn't going to last much longer," Molly said evenly. Drummer stared at her, unblinkingly.

"You know, Mrs. Timmons, I admire a woman who can be so brave in the face of losing a child," Church said coldly. Barney felt ice rush down his spine, but Molly narrowed her eyes.

"Is Gabriel-" Christmas started.

"Gabriel's fine. It's none of your goddamn business, Church. Why don't you go stop a coup and leave us alone for a few months," Molly sneered.

"So, what was he talking about?" Barney asked as they headed for their parked vehicles. Molly's face was carefully blank.

"I miscarried, about a week ago. I was eight weeks along," Molly said bluntly. Barney closed his eyes.

"Christ, Booker," he shook his head, his heart twisting a bit.

"I wasn't going to stay here on my ass, Barney," she said firmly. Barney glanced at her. He could see Billy waiting outside of their truck, a gurgling Gabriel in his arms. "You should go and see her."

Barney knew without asking whom she was speaking of.

"Molly, the last thing she's going to want is to see me."

"You saved her once, Barney...Maybe you can do it again," Molly gave him a brief, one armed hug before limping towards her husband. "I'm glad you're not dead, boss."

Billy gave Barney a smile before embracing his wife tightly.

* * *

It wasn't hard to track Deb down. Barney knocked heavily on the hotel door. Mickey opened it, his hair damp. He wore a pair of flannel pants and a white t shirt. Barney could see the black of his tattoos under the thin material.

Mickey said nothing as he opened the door wider.

"I'm jus' across the hall... She's not doin' so well," Mickey stepped out past him. Barney felt panic twist his gut. What could he say to her? She was Deborah Martin, the devil may care mercenary who gave this Life her everything. But she was also Ruth Prcic, that little girl who had watched so emptily as men died before her.

Barney stepped into the room but didn't see her. He peered into the open bathroom door. Deborah sat in the tub, wearing nothing but an overlarge t shirt and a pair of black briefs. A half empty bottle of Jack hung limply in her hands. Her eyes were watery. Whether it was from the alcohol or emotion, Barney didn't know.

Warily, he sat on the closed toilet seat and clasped his hands in front of him. Deborah stared at him, her head leaning against the wall.

"The last time I saw you, Barney Ross, I was tied to my dead brothers and you were killing the men responsible for my mother's death. I was nine years old and my world was destroyed," Deborah said roughly. "Sometimes, I wish I would have died...Sometimes, I think the children would be better off dead, too."

"Don't say that," Barney shook his head, "It's always worth the fight. And you do good, Martin."

She shook her head.

"You don't know the things those children are put through, Barney... I see them and I take them home, and give them back to their parents, and all I can think about is how miserable their lives will be."

"But they have lives, thanks to you," Barney reminded.

"Sad, haunted lives. They won't ever be whole again. What kind of existence is that, Barney?" she turned her sad, drunken eyes to his and he felt a lump in his throat. Deborah took another swig from the bottle and closed her eyes.

"And they rely on me, in my drunken stupor, to save them. What kind of world do we live in, Barney, when I'm the only person willing to stand for them?"

"A broken one," Barney reached out and took the bottle from her hand. He took a long drink before handing it back.

Deborah smiled sadly at him.

They sat in that bathroom in the seedy little hotel for most of the night, lamenting the cruelties of life and sharing what was left of the alcohol.

It was four o'clock in the morning before Deborah passed out. Barney drug the comforter off the bed and draped it over her form in the bath tub. He barely managed to drag himself to the stripped bed before he lost consciousness as well.

* * *

The sun was streaming through the dirty windows when the hotel door opened. Barney stirred, trying to rouse himself from the heavy, mind numbing alcohol.

By the time he pried his eyes open, Mickey had situated himself in the chair in the corner of the room. He cut a slice of red apple off and put it in his mouth.

"Mornin', Barney," the Irishman greeted. Barney groaned. His head throbbed. It had been a long time since he'd drank like that. "Debbie share her Jack with ye?" he wondered.

"What time is it?" Barney grumbled.

"Oh, 'round eleven. Yer medic called, invited us for breakfast. Wanted ta know if I'd seen ye. She was miffed ye weren't answerin' yer phone," Mickey announced. Barney closed his eyes.

Of course, Molly would befriend the Irishman. She liked crazy.

"I'm gonna wake Deb up," he said, standing. A moment later, he heard the water turn on and Deborah shriek a curse. Mickey ducked out of the bathroom, grinning.

* * *

Half an hour later, they were pulling into Molly's driveway. Barney saw everybody else's motorcycles and trucks already parked.

Billy opened the door and grinned.

"Good to see you, boss," he shook Barney's hand enthusiastically. Barney had to smile back. Billy's happiness was infectious.

"Billy, this Deb Martin and Mickey O'Shea."

"Nice to meet you," Billy shook their hands, "Come on in," he stood aside to let them in. The kitchen/dining area was filled with clean cut mercenaries. Deborah hardly recognized them in their civvies.

"Jesus, Barney, you're too old to stay out drinking half the night. You're going to kill your liver," Molly commented from her place by the stove. She had a flowery apron on and her hair was tied back. Gabriel rested on her hip. The child was bouncing and writhing excitedly. "Kid, you're going to make me drop you," Molly warned her son sternly. He gave her a toothless grin.

"Why don't you focus on cooking, Molly, and let him come to Uncle Tool," the man took the baby from Molly, making faces at him. Molly rolled her eyes.

"I tell you, Deborah, don't ever cook for a man, or they'll start to expect it," Molly sighed heavily. That startled a small smile from the jaded woman.

"Tool, you be gentle with my baby!" Molly barked.

"Do ya need any help?" Deborah asked politely. Molly glanced over her shoulder.

"Rescue my baby from those gorillas?" Molly suggested, "Hand him over to the responsible one, Tool!" Molly ordered. Tool sulked but did as she bade.

Molly was, after all, the one feeding them.

Deborah looked down at Gabriel's brown eyes. He let out a jubilant laugh as he grabbed a hold of her shirt with his chubby little hand.

Perhaps not all was broken in this world.

* * *

**A/N: And that's all, folks!**

**Thank you guys so much for sticking around with me and reading this. Seriously, you're awesome. **


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